Mark of the Idiot (chapter 10)
by Dragongirl617
Summary: Zim pranks a sleeping Dib by writing on the word "Idiot" on his forehead with an irken permanent marker. Dib decides to get even, never suspecting where the consequences of his actions would lead. ZADR, CHAPTER 10 ONLY


**There is a ZADR fiction here on this website, called 'Mark of the Idiot' (URL here - s/9579946/1/Mark-of-the-Idiot), a Round Robin story organised on deviantArt. I was the writter of Chapter 10, as is here. If you have not read the first 9 chapters do so, else this will not make much sense**

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Awash in the silvery moonlight of the starlit sky, the Irken and the human walked forthwith to the sanctuary of the base. Hand in hand, beneath the stars they strode among, the content glow of their newly discovered affection shone more brightly than any star Zim had seen in all his years of travel. Covered by the veil of the night-sky his face flushed with purple and his belly groaned pleasurably with the confectionary he had so recently consumed with Dib. _His _Dib, whom no one else could look upon or even touch, without feeling the merciless kiss of his claws.

_Try to take what is not yours, and suffer the wraith of Zim, Earth filth._

_"__Mnn . . . Zim . . ." _His hand cried for relief in the guillotine grip of his mate. Zim turned, and immediately felt the contracting twists of terror at the sight of Dib toppling inwards, clutching at his belly as the agonising churning of mutation took hold once more. The serum he had consumed not so long prior did nothing to dull the pain, and as Zim knew all too well, rich candy on an empty and aching belly was a recipe for woe.

In a forceful tug, his hand was pulled free. "Are you going to throw up, Dib-thing?" asked Zim, only to receive no answer or warning, but the stumbling forwards Dib gave to grip ahold of a nearby fence, seconds before his belly spasmed, and he retched plasmas of sour jellies, cake and ice cream. Tears morphed within his eyes and spilled free at the realisation that the pain in his growing squeedily-spooch did not cease in the emptying of his belly. Zim could only stand back, wait and watch, until Dib was free of the rancid clotting of unfriendly foods. Only then did Zim descend; wrapping strong arms around still human shoulders and beneath knees he casually swept Dib off of his feet, and onwards carried him home.

In his arms Dib did not protest. He pressed his face into Zim's sweater, enjoying the comfort, the scent, his mate emulated.

The warming protection the base offered struck the pair in the instant feet crossed the threshold. The squeals and squeaks belonging to GIR and MiniMoose appeared absent, or muted; either way, the silence was welcoming, so they both agreed as Zim dropped Dib onto the couch. "The pain will die on its own, Dib-thing. Try to sleep; Zim will not be far." In the growing intensity of the empty base Zim's voice appeared almost husky, or so it seemed to Dib, as he lay his body flat upon the couch, and watched with an aching heart as Zim walked away, leaving him behind, alone, in the empty room.

He did not sleep. How could he? He was not tired; he was in pain. His belly hummed with the venomous promise of more agony to come. Moaning, Dib caressed his stomach, his heavy arousal through his jeans. He could not attempt to follow Zim's advice and go to sleep – he did not want that. All he wanted was to end ache in his heart, in his throbbing, heat-seeking member as he lay alone in the dark. His memory cast back to earlier in day, and instantly felt the dismay define his features.

_How could I have been so stupid in turning Zim down? Accident or no accident I am becoming Irken and I love Zim. This is not fleeting, or just lust like those stupid jocks at skool. I am in love with Zim. I want him – no, I _need_ him, every bit of him, so much I need him now, now, now, NOW!_

And suddenly he was sat up straight, his heart, his whole psyche screaming to feel the warmth of his Zim. His mind was blank and his feet were walking, following not his eyes but the instinctive tug that pulled him towards his mate.

He did not know where he was going, but at some point, between now and then, clothes were shed from his sweating body. Tossed aside like old, dead second skin with no purpose but to hit the dust and allow the trapped flesh within to breathe freely. Even in the dark hallways he could hear the rising beat of pulses yearning for the race to being, the musky smell of sweat and desire needing the feel of warm skin beneath its touch. As if led by the strings of the all-seeing puppet master Dib walked onwards, into a room he did not even know existed. It was pitch black, but for the glowing magenta of eyes bright with the knowing of why Dib was there.

Still human, Dib licked his dry lips. "Zim, I . . ." He never finished his sentence. As the lights blazed to life around him Dib was blinded only momentarily, until his changing eyes grew accustomed to the lack of blackness. When he looked forth the air within his lungs turned to ash, to behold the bewitching sight of his own Zim, naked and lascivious before him. Between his legs his tongue-like member emerged from its armoured sheath; dripping, salivating for the taste of love.

"Come to Zim," Dib's mate ordered.

And the world around them came to an abrupt end, as the colliding of warm fingers entwining and warring of tongues for the right to dominate erupted to the surface fireworks of ecstasy. Beneath Dib's weight on the soft pillowing bed Zim hissed into his mouth; interlaced in the kiss was the mismatch of Irken and human teeth, drawing forth pools of crimson and indigo blood, wavering in their mouths and dripping down their chins. The kiss, the pressing of bodies carried upon its shoulders the passion of their once living hatred, and rise of this new affection they had only just come to embrace.

The connection was broken for only long enough for breaths to be drawn. Still trapped beneath the Dib's body Zim was immobilised, powerless to the hot trace Dib's finger left, travelling down the inside of his thighs to force them apart and toss those taunt, offensive green legs over still human shoulders. Zim growled, unwilling to surrender so easily. His title may be gone but in his heart and mind he was still an Invader, and he would remain that way for eternity. Desperate squirming and hissing insinuated, made redundant by the moist caresses Dib's tongue shed over the virgin opening. Saliva dripped, wetting the sacred area in preparation for the act to follow. Dib's eyes were clouded as they clouded whenever he pleasured himself behind closed doors. He was oblivious to everything but the wanton need burning in his body.

His head drew back, the tip of his erection breached the opening and Zim gave a gasp. "W . . . Wait, Dib-love. There is something you must know . . ." His zipper teeth ground together in his battle not to moan.

Aggravated by the unwanted sound Dib hissed; a poisonous snarl that was more Irken than it was human, but the adrenalin coursing throughout his veins made him unaware. The agony of his mutating body made his passion predatory; he wanted no interruptions, no one to dominate him. He pushed further.

"D . . . Dib-Worm, do not ignore Zim! This is important!" The gasps that left Zim's mouth contained nothing but the pain brought to life by the ploughing in that untouched place above his rump. At last Dib stopped, and met Zim's gaze.

"I want you, Zim, _so _much. Unless you're about to tell me . . . that you can get pregnant . . . I'm not interested." Soaked in lustful rasps, folded into Dib's voice was a brush of sarcasm, only slightly diminished by genuine concern. And despite his predicament of being trapped hot and heavy beneath his mate, partially violated, Zim's face twisted with his disgust.

"Tcha! Are you stupid, Dib-Stink?! Only females can bare smeet – Zim thought this was the same on Earth." The anger so newly ignited withered into nothing but a sense of offensive weakness in the pure Irken, carving lines of unease into Zim's expression at the sight of the baring of teeth in the grin Dib gifted him with.

The changing human shifted to drive his lover's legs further backwards, exposing the slightly broken opening to his aching member. "That was all I needed to hear," whispered Dib, and pushed himself inwards, deeper and deeper until the natural heat of another being swallowed him up, birthing to life the sweet cries that whimpered with pain and yearned for more. Movement stopped, time had no meaning. Silence echoed, but for the gasping of desire and the racing of hearts, beating in unison.

And then Dib began to rock his hips. Slowly at first, but precise and firm, the sequence opposing the uneven moans he gave to the feeling of being engulfed for the first time. He was a man, Zim was a man, and like men they mewled and panted, the yelps of the Irken stealing above the rest at the feeling of the unexpected stretch of muscle around Dib's hardened member. Standing tall above the pain Zim's own member bounced as he bounced, saturated in precome, in time with the Dib as the ache of breaching began to die, and the Irken's mewling transformed into the honeyed crying for more. Strikes became faster, sharper, stronger and desperate, until nothing could break through the rhythmic sound of wet flesh slapping into flesh, the creaking of springs in the mattress they lay upon, save for that very crying, and the needful gulping of air.

Zim was the first the release. He gave no warning, but to clench a vice-like wall around the intruding orifice as the muscles in his stomach let go and he exploded, his PAK rising an arch above the bed as the sticky fount of green fluid struck the Dib's cheek and upon his own stomach.

So high up he seemed, Dib gave another smile, sweet this time, enough to make Zim flush as he panted and laboured above him, inside him. "_Mmm_ . . . my love . . . I wonder how many more times I can make you come before I do."

But in the end Zim only climaxed once more, before a giant fist closed itself around Dib's member and squeezed dry the essence of something not quite human, not quite Irken, into Zim's body. Years of unattended drought ended in an ecstatic flooding of pleasure filling Zim to the brim, overflowing, seeping down his thighs. It was only when Dib was completely empty, milked dry like a woman feeding her babe, that his body gave-way to exhaustion and he collapsed in a fit of desperate breaths atop Zim's lithe figure. Neither moved, save to ensure that Zim was not crushed.

In the aftermath of their act they led together in a sweaty entanglement of Irken limbs wrapped around still human hips and shoulders. Fingers entwined with one another and tongue touched tongue. The soft purring of content happiness filled the otherwise quiet room, and even as the perfection of the moment stirred them both anew, neither one made any attempt to ruin the union.

It may have been hours that past them by – it was impossible to tell and why would they wish to know? – before Zim pulled back, breaking the contact of their swollen lips. "Dib-love. Are you going to get out of me now?" His voice was still husky, clotted thick with the aches left by the fulfilment of his passion.

Even as Zim spoke the purring did not end. It was not until that point that Dib realised that he was the one purring. Yet it appeared natural, unsurprising to the pair, and for perhaps the first time since their unintentional word game, Dib regretted nothing.

He traced a finger along Zim's collar bone. "And why would I want to do that?" purred Dib sweetly. "You're so warm and tight and comfy, Zim. I don't want to ever move." Now that his appetites were sated the predatory fire within Dib was extinguished to that of a flickering, gentle spark, warming them both to the core.

The divine orbs of fushia lava blinked hard, once, before softening like freshly churned butter; sweet, creamy, yet blended hot and troubling into the softness was a curdled streak of unease. "S . . . So would Zim like you to stay there, b . . . but I have oh SO much to do!" His red-herring yells made Dib laugh, so that the changing human would not ask as to why Zim had to swallow to wet his dry throat, or why his throat was dry at all. With eyes now screwed firmly shut he spoke in one breath. "So you'd better take your Irken meat-stick out of Zim's ass now!"

A hand softly struck Zim's bare thigh as Dib's face bore a tired smile. "I'm not an Irken just yet, Zim, and don't you forge – why are you staring at me like that?" It was something he could not explain, exactly as to why he was overcome with dread at the very sight of the deep folding of regret, and the weak smile his Zim flashed him.

"Zim tried to warn you, Dib-thing," Zim muttered, only to firmly shut his eyes so that would not have to see his beloved's face when the Dib paled, and pulled his member free.

Except that it was not bulbous member he had breached Zim with, but the longer, tongue-like magenta manhood that no human had any right to own. Whimpers to mimic those of a dying puppy escaped the tiny gap between Dib's lips as the blood rushed from his head at the very sight of his now Irken member receding back into its sheath, ready to be used at a later date.

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**I have never written a sex scene before this! So cut me some slack ;p**


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